


Raise It Up

by BadBedForBedding



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Age Difference, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Crazy!Cersei, Drama, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Multi, Multiple POV's, Porn, Romance, Smut, Treason, Violence and stuff, Warg!Arya, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:25:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadBedForBedding/pseuds/BadBedForBedding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You made a deal, and now it seems<br/>you have to offer up<br/>But will it ever be enough?<br/>(Raise it up, raise it up)<br/>It's not enough (Raise it up, raise it up)</p>
<p>Here I am, a rabbit hearted girl<br/>Frozen in the headlights It seems<br/>I've made the final sacrifice</p>
<p>We raise it up, this offering<br/>We raise it up</p>
<p>This is a gift, it comes with a price<br/>Who is the lamb and who is the knife?<br/>Midas is king and he holds me so tight<br/>And turns me to gold in the sunlight</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Offering: Ned

**Act I: An Offering  
**  
**Scene I: Ned**

 

For a very long time now, he's been swallowed by darkness completely. Only the come and go of jailers said that he still hadn't lost his vision. For a long time he'd lost count of the days, hours and minutes, for everything was the same and it all felt like nothing, he could have been there for a lifetime, if it was for his feeble counting.  
He eagerly effused his skin of wine, trying to perceive what was happening, for the reality has blent with his dreams and nightmares; his mind obscured with his deplorable state. There, on those black cells under the Red Keep all his conceptions had been forgotten, his merits fallen away, nothing else remain. Here abides the traitor waiting for his sentence.

Looking at the emptiness in front of him and listening to the fuss of the paws of his roommates on the stone floor.

A myriad of memories passed on his head; he saw his children, his wife, his family and his house; he saw his friend, his king and his enemy, the past, the battles, the glories and defeats. He saw his promises, his decisions and his actions: _"I did everything I could."_ But that still wasn't enough. Was it?

Once again his fellow rats drew his attention, and judging through the set of repellants noises they did, it seemed to be eating something; this was a good sign, for a man who was without eating for days, perhaps weeks, the hunger consumed his insides, causing an excruciating pain in the pit of his stomach. Tacting blindly the cold surface, slowly and cautiously, he found the shape of the hairy animal, which seemed to be very busy to notice the plan of the human. His trembling hand hovered over his victim and he prepared himself for the attack, trusting only in his ears he dropped his hand on the mouse and was took by disappointment when his fingers knocked on the back of the beast and sent him running toward its burrow. A guttural grunt escaped his throat, startling himself.

He was alone once again. In that endless nothing. _"Gods help me"._ He pleaded. But there are no gods in the underground; only demons who live to torment his tired mind.

He laid his head on the rough wall behind him, trying to rest.

Without concrete information to be based on, he pondered about the possible current events outside that hellhole. It has been a long time since Varys paid him a visit to fill him in on the news, everything that he knew was that Stannis was marching with an army more faithful to the red priestess than to their king. Renly also had entitled himself king and allied forces with the Tyrells of the Reach. His own son was appointed King in the North and now marched down south to rescue his father and sister Sansa that was at the mercy of the Lannisters and who suffered the consequences of all the mistakes that her traitor father and brother committed. Sansa was always loving and generous, and above all an example of cordiality and grace, she would be a great queen, he was sure. But having Joffrey ''Baratheon'' Lannister as regent only made him fret for his sweet child.

" _Why not kill me'?". H_ e thought. _"Kill me and be done with it already."_ But he knew that it would not be enough, that his death would not ensure the safety of his family and that they would do everything possible to break them terribly.

Enraged; he cursed the day that Robert had asked him to serve as the King's Hand, and cursed at twice himself for accepting and still by dragging his daughters along to this den of snakes that was King's Landing. _"At least one of them is safe."_ He recalled, or maybe not, and more possible Cercei Lannister could have warrant someone to capture her in Braavos or even murder her. In a foreign country any one could lead to guilt, but not the Lannisters.  
Since that little incident in which Arya's wolf attacked the prince, their situation was getting worse. He was forced to sacrifice Sansa's wolf, at the time that Arya's had fled to somewhere in the Trident. The discontentment of the two girls was palpable, and the disgust for one another was even more evident. The absurdity of the Queen's desire to cut Arya's hand hadn't been forgotten by Ned and he sent more guards to accompany his youngest daughter to be safe. But she was slippery and always ran to isolate herself in her room.

When he discovered that his own daughter of only three and ten name days, maintained possession of a sword made by his own forge, which she called 'Needle'; He decided to break the offensive object and be done with this joke, but he's daughter long and sad face made him change his mind.

 _"Ah, Arya. You have a wildness in you, child. The ‘Wolf Blood', my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch. It brought them both to an early grave." He spoke melancholically, extending the 'Needle' to return it to her, as she took it hesitantly. "Lyanna would also load a sword if our father had allowed."_  
_"Can I stay with her? - For truth?”._ _"Yes, but don't go around sticking the pointy end at your sister, or septa Mordane. And you will have to learn how to use this needle appropriately, with a master of dance." Watching Arya’s expression of betrayed and defeated, he laughed and completed: "A teacher of Water Dance. It is a Braavosy technique of espadachin. Didn’t you want to travel and live adventures?" he asked seriously. She shook her head eagerly, with her lower lip between her teeth and eyes popping. Still confused of where he wanted to get._  
_"Well. I'll tidy up everything to your trip, little wolf." she threw her arms around his neck still holding the sword. "Easy, you don't want to hurt your father, do you?" She stopped, embarrassed and started laughing loud, soon the two were out of breath._  
_A week later a ship toward Braavos had had been arranged, messages were sent and after the warm farewell of the northern guards and one very forced hug from her sister. Arya gave him a long and tight hug, Ned kissed her forehead with affection and told her to behaved._  
_And then she was off with a dozen guards to be a ward of Zurykh the Sealord of Braavos._

Just thinking of how much his wife condemned him for his decision, always stating he did wrong in send a girl away from the eyes of her parents; far from a septa to teach her how to be a lady, far from her native country and its westerose culture. He even doubted his own choice and as any father he was concerned with his daughter.  
But, oh, how he wanted to know of his Arya and ensure that each reckless choice, was in fact the correct one. He wanted to be able to look into his wife's eyes and tell her to not despair herself, to entrust this to him and the gods, that their children would be back in her arms.  
He wanted to hold her close and caress her beautiful red hair which he loved so much. He wanted to kiss the lips of his young wife. Sure, the time has passed for both of them, but in his eyes, she would always be that young, and still fresh from the south maiden.

Those lightweight thoughts brought an easy smile on his face, gently numbing any suffering. But before long a horrendous sound of rusty metal being hauled harshly brought him back from his dreams. Or would this now be a nightmare? Was he asleep or awake? He does not know and there is no way of knowing. So he stops and waits for the next step.

The door that he forgot existed was opening and a bright light blinded his eyes. Horrified, he retreated and withdrew his watering gaze from the fierceness invoked by the fire.

"Lord Stark." He heard. It was the voice of a Lord, his voice emanated pride and power. He tried to see the man that called, but his sensitive pupils only allowed him to see a silhouette. Tall Stature, a fit body and a lofty air. The man looked confidently at him, and Eddard looked back, careful and attentive, he wondered whether that would be the magistrate of the king, here to finish the job and cut his head off.

"Leave us alone". The man spoke with his gaze still stuck in the moribund that it was he himself. Ned noted the warder move and heard the weak sound of another door closing. The man couched as if to examine him better and Ned could see traces of golden hair, but that was mostly wizened, saw deep green eyes but verging for gold around the iris. The lion faced him strong and long.

"Lannister". It was everything that he managed to say, because the smaller of the syllables scratched his throat cruelly.

"Lord Stark, how are you doing? I see that you already made yourself at home." Said Tywin Lannister, leonine eyes locked in his lupines ones.

"You gave me no choice, did you Lannister?"

A pause arose but Tywin remained calm and cautious.

"Or were you who didn’t gave me other option, Stark? Because that is what traitors deserve, you should thank me for still being alive."

"And why am I still alive?" He asked.

“You are a big part in this game, Ned, a crucial piece to the end of a further departure, to be honest”.

“Enlighten me, what did you really came have with me, will you kill me? Will I be sent to the Wall?” He said, letting the words flows quickly from his brain to the tip of his tongue.

“We will get there Ned, but for now let us talk about our respective families and the situation in which we find ourselves”.

Ned remained mute, hoping he’d continue, because he wanted more than anything, to know in what situation they were.

This was a long pause. But when ceased, he clung to every word uttered by the sharpened tongue of that Lord.

“Renly is dead; he didn’t have a chance to attack with his great army. So the Tyrells joined our forces and now fight for their true King, Joffrey Baratheon I”. He held out each word dramatically. “Stannis tried to attack us by water, arriving by Blackwater Bay, but our mens of Lannister and Tyrell stopped him and he receded properly. Before coming to King's Landing to deal with Stannis I was in Harrenhal dealing with your son.”

“I assume he is giving you a hard time, then” He said.

“He kidnapped my son Jaime, and secures him captive in hopes of getting his sister and father in exchange”. Tywin said, now cold. “He won all the battles until now, but a battle is not the war and I would advise him to stop before the war ends and he loses his head on the way there”.

Ned studied his expression and pondered about this new information; he tried to think of the best answer to give, but didn't come with any, because the words of the man could be false. Just a trap that the lion prepared for his prey. ”And what do you intend to do about it? Do you; by chance, hope that I take some part in your plans?”

  
“A small, but important part in my plans”. Tywin nodded. “You see; my lord ashamed the name of my family spreading dirty lies about my children. And your son, mistreat us kidnapping Jaime in a coward movement. I should destroy you as I did with the House Reyne and put an end to the Stark lineage”. Tywin took air into his lungs and continued. “But I'm being merciful to propose an alliance between the Stark and Lannisters”.

“So you still want to marry Sansa with Joffrey?” Ned spoke without thinking; implicating the boy's true parentage. Tywin resumed a scowls, but his voice remained calm and cold.

“I am not talking about Sansa and our young King Baratheon, but of your youngest daughter who is in Essos”.

Ned soon had a wicked smile on his face. _"She is in Essos. Great.”_ He gathered all the calm still remained in him and responded for the first time as good as of the Lord Lannister.

"And with whom do you intend on marry her? Would it be with Lorde Tyrion 'The imp'? Interesting match. But I fear that you would have to be careful once you put those two together." He said smiling.

"No, Lord Stark. We'd marry your daughter with my son Jaime, future Guardian of the West and Lord of Casterly Rock."

He was dismayed. Eddard did not understand how that could happen if Jaime Lannister had said his votes and swore his life unto the Kingsguard. _"Well, He is known to break his votes."_ He tought.

"What would you gain from this Lannister?" He asked.

"A ward, a good daughter who would give birth to the heirs of my House, and a wife as good in blood and social status worth of my son and the name Lannister."

A pause.

"You would have to return Sansa to Winterfell and her mother."

"Ok. Joffrey intends to marry the Tyrell girl, your daughter is no longer attached to any promise."

Lord Tywin arose and made mention to leave, but Eddard stopped him to ask something not mentioned in any moment by the Lord of Casterly Rock.

"And as for my judgment?"

"I will schedule _it_ when a raven written to your family explaining our new agreement has been sent properly.” Lord Tywin looked at him for the last time and ended up:

"Don't worry. A Lannister always pays his debts."


	2. An Offering: Arya

**Act I: An Offering.**  
****

**Scene II: Arya**

 

 

 

_"Your betrothed will be waiting for you."_

 

The sound of the waves hitting the bow of the ship and the crew working did little to distract her.

The wind brought the strong smell of the sea attaining her senses and blessing her paths. But internally she wished for the winds to cease and to imprison them in the middle of the ocean. Secretly she was asked for a storm that would flip them upside-down, for the furious and unforgivable sea, where the strangest creatures - only heard before from the mouth of the Old Nan-, would grab them and scuff ‘em to the deepest place on earth.

 _“Selfish Bitch.”_ She never thought would come the day in which she would wish her death and a that of a whole crew just so she could get away of a marriage. Her own marriage.

As the Titan of Braavos disappeared in the horizon a feeling of mourn involved her chest, almost as strong as the time she left Winterfell, her home, toward King's Landing. This time she was leaving Braavos behind, her second home, back to that shit hole they called the royal city. She seemed to be doomed to live in a place, surrounded by idiots and liars; crappy liars at that. That city represented everything that was contrary to a home. For her, King's Landing, Red Keep and Lannister were only different synonyms for 'trap'. But she saw herself walking toward the trap and entering the mouth of the lion.

Rage had been forming in her core like when a new channel was opened in Braavos and the greenish water flowed rapidly toward the heart of the city. A certain agitation, restlessness, left her tired even when she was sitting still. The somber mood that took her since she received the "Letter" made anyone keep a safe distance, otherwise they would have to deal with heavy looks, fierce snarling and swearing in the most different languages.

So they let her be. The young woman; well known throughout Braavos as the spirited, strong and courageous girl. As the always so dear ward of the Sealord of Braavos. Also known as Arry, weasel, Nym and lately Cat of the Canals. Hated by her opponents in combat; some called her crazy, others still would said she was lovely, but for _those_ she promptly showed the finger and called them a camel’s scum.

 

 

_“Your brother has been fighting a hard battle for the sake of our family.”_

 

She used to feel accomplished, for since she arrived in Braavos she learned so much and acquired many things; to begin with her own freedom. There, the fact of being a woman meant little; women could work and manage anything as well as a men.

Arya took her Water Dance lessons very seriously, and even if Lord Zürykh prohibited her from participating in any duel that would be; once or twice she would sneak after twilight navigating through the alleys where swordsmen would get in their stance and attack each other. She was proud of walking with "Needle" always tied to her hip, proud of being able to fight and defend herself without anyone to protect her. But she never felt so powerless as she felt now. Her skills with the sword would not help with anything, even if she wanted, killing her future husband would only lead to more war. _"This could be different."_ She thought.

Every time that Arya went out in search of news about the war, about her brother and her family; she had thought to help them and fight for her family, she dreamed to free her father and kill Joffrey Baratheon mercilessly, she wanted to destroy and take revenge to all those who have caused some harm to her family.

But Lord Zürykh advised her to stay away from the war. The Free Cities did not take any party in the wars of the Seven Kingdoms; for this reason he thought it best that she remained there until things cleared up.

In addition, the only and last letter that she received from Robb after being appointed King, said that she should stay in Braavos until second orders from him.

With that she spent several nights, waiting for news, for a change; something to lessen her from the agony that was doing nothing. At least until the Wolf's Dreams took her.

 

_“In spite of you being across the Narrow sea, I would like to remind you that your duties towards your family remain the same.”_

 

It is frustrating how your brain could play cruel tricks to one so naive, as one day a girl had felt, and fully believed to be free to do and be whatever she pleased, from a rider to a simple peasant; but never a lady, Arya wasn’t a lady like her mother and sister. When she first landed in Braavos, she soon forgot how it was to live in a castle; knowing that one way or another her future was already mapped out and they would marry her off, as soon as possible to any old Lord willing to take the she-wolf.

Her father understood her, and knowing of her distaste for such things, he gave her the freedom to be herself. Freedom as much false, as soon as that only exist in the head of a child.

Family, Duty, Honour. Her mother used to say and as her father so promptly made her remember in the “Letter”:  

 

_“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.”_

 

Not that she knew much of politics and the games played in the court. But to say that the Starks and Lannisters found themselves at a stalemate was an understatement.

Robb kept Jaime Lannister captive, while Joffrey and Cercei maintained Eddard Stark locked up and Sansa always in arm's length. Both without another choice but to enter into an agreement. _“Fucking time that this agreement had to involve a marriage”._ Arya thought bitterly.

You see, it is easy to say that the contents of the "Letter" of her father was necessary, for being in such a dangerous position, - he must choose well his words when he’s still in the Lannister’s grip -; difficult is to be happy with such content and accept it dutifully seems impossible to Arya. Not that the Lannisters have not also squirmed a bit before that situation, - Joffrey mainly-. The pride of the lion was stolen along with the Young Lion Lannister. And the desires of King Joffrey to have all the Starks dead in his name was set aside for putting into practice this new arrangement between the families. 

 

_“Be assured that you will be warmly welcome.”_

 

As soon as she put her feet on the old port of King's Landing the farce of her life would begin, and then any chance of a happy life would be over.  
This would be her sacrifice for a promise of peace, she would continue with the oath made by her father for the sake of her family. She would put aside her previous self, and give way to a stronger and colder Arya.

She swallowed hard and stifled the desire to cry. The last sentence of the "Letter" of her father stuck in her mind:

 

_“Forgive me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The contents of Ned's letter for Arya is all mix it up in her head, as this was arya's pov, she contenplates in what burned her the most.  
> I'm very sorry for the daley, and I know this was a rather short chapter, but there is a lot more to come and soon.
> 
> P.s.: I should warn you that english is not my first lenguage, so please if you see a ridiculous mistake don't hesitate to appoint it, I intent to improve my writing for you guys to read it better. (I apologies for being a huge pain in the ass).
> 
> Review, Coment, every opinion is welcome :)


	3. An Offering: Tywin

**Act I: An Offering**

**Scene III: Tywin**

 

Tywin walked past the wide corridors of the Tower of the Hand, almost in a race. Descending the stairs cautiously but still with some rapidity, the great sword skimming his thigh from time to time; his expression serious, never different.

From afar he could see the idiot by which was responsible for the royal navy fleet, his walk sloppy and shoulders fallen, Tywin would have mistaken him for a subordinate of some kind; were it not for his extravagant attire, that he certainly spent a handful of golden dragons to own.  
Tywin was still marching forward without hesitation, the other man has been dragging himself in the opposite direction and as he recognize Tywin, the fool smiled as one smiles for an old friend, leaving with the appearance even more of an dimwit. He has progressed some more steps to reach him and then opened his mouth in salute: " ...".

Tywin continued walking without driving him a second glance. The men remained stuck in the same place, gaping like a fish.

There was no time to lose, a second wasted with each jester that appeared and he would be stuck for hours, the time ran against him, but the Lorde Hand of the King would not lose this battle. His son had just arrived from a long journey - and even longer forced in captivity-, and his mind would be weak as one of a small child, his goal was to get to him before one of his siblings could come and fill his head with more follies. Tywin knew that Cercei would push him a glass of wine and hide him underneath her skirts, taking control of the weak little shit. Tyrion would push Jaime another cup of wine and plot against himself, poisoning the mind of that poor being. In thinking that those were all his children, blood of his blood, and all they seemed to do was drink, play and fuck. _“A pity."_

He was ten steps far from the large exit of the Tower of the Hand when he remembered that he would have to pass through the courtyard, where he would be seen and _observed_ \- he thought- by guards, servants and certainly spiders that could be found lingering there; not really caring, he just focused his gaze on his path and continued walking, without recognizing their existence. _"A lion does not concern himself with the thought of a sheep"_. It was evident to where he was heading to and what was to be done, all Westeros knew and would drive him hidden stares without much success; for sure Jaime’s arrival in King's Landing was the hot gossip of the moment. They were all in waiting, and prepared for whatever it would come.

Tywin personally, did not debate with the same questions to which the outsiders did; _"Will it work?"_ , _"Do you think that the Kingslayer will go through with this?”_ , _"Ah Of course, yes. A war is imminent. It always is"_. Men are all like this, especially when they thought that they knew everything and cried each statement with a tone of voice that I would not be disputed. _"These are still more stupids"_. Tywin had always a trick in his sleeve; he would not be himself if he didn't. What people knew was what was transmitted to all parties by his orders: The Starks would be forgiven, so that Jaime was in security and married with the youngest Stark girl to form an alliance, it's so important to prevent the northern to rebel again and then do expand the feeling of peace into their heads. The Starks would be spared - Renly was dead and Stannis trapped.

Peace.

That was what the whole Kingdom asked for, there was hunger and pain everywhere, the days seemed increasingly cold and soon it would become difficult to dig burrows in the frozen ground, it was of no use to reign in a place torn by chaos, death and misery.

There were difficult decisions, but they had to be made. No one better than someone so experienced in the game, the oldest of them all. The man played with cunning, better than anyone.

It was almost funny how those parts served him so well and would relieve Tywin of headaches that for very long he struggled against. Ned Stark always so willing to protect his family and his unshakable idea of honor did an easy prey, a bad player. _"In the game of thrones you win or you die"_.

But the youngest daughter of this man represented more than he would like to admit.

She would be a pillar. The pillar which would ensure the order and harmony, as in the old tales of Brandon The Constructor this pillar of a rudimentary stone was rather sickening to any station, and it would be up to him to chip away that stone until it becomes the most elegant marble able to keep erected by millennia the wire. But a pillar alone cannot hold a castle and other pillars would be put in their places to achieve the balance. Jaime would be of great importance in this architecture, until he became Lorde Lannister he had a lot to learn, but if everything went as planned, his heir would be in good company.

By turns on the corridors and halls of the Red Keep, he noted that as he bid Jaime would no more be situated in the Tower of the Royal Guard, but realized with contempt that his new rooms were closer to the queen's than Tywin would have liked. It would be easier to push such thoughts through the window as a coward, but he was a Lannister and faced the problem as the patriarch he was. The first thing he did was to forbid everyone in the realm to pronounce a single word about the rumors spread by Ned Stark, he knew very well that peasants and these types enjoyed statements that made believe they were so mundane as them; therefore he swore to cut tongues and heads of any unfortunate man that trusted any veracity in this. It worked. The second thing to do is move the twins as far as possible from each other, before new rumors could be raised and doubts planted.

As he moved closer to his son's chambers, Tywin has decreased the speed of his steps and also of his thoughts. He walked slowly and deliberately to the door where two golden cloaks remained. The Hand of the King approached and nodded in recognition, then he entered without knocking or announcement, to see what remained of Jaime.

But oh, why. His son was terribly thin, with fresh bruises and other healing well, skin paler than ever. The traces of what once has been a hero were sitting in the window, his back to Tywin, immobile. There was no glass of wine, so he assumed that Jaime was still sober; that would be good for the conversation that they were about to have.

Tywin Lannister cleared his throat. Jaime turned abruptly in fright.

"Father" Jaime said; feigning emotion.

"Jaime." He replied. "Have you been attended by the Master yet?” He asked.

“Ah, Yes. The old man has been here and gave me some Milk of poppy. Not enough, though”

Tywin felt briefly sorry for his son, but forgot to as fast as the feeling came.

"I am glad that you have arrived well." He lied. Jaime was far from being 'well' per se. "But there are urgent matters that we must deal with before we start to deal with you."

"Of course father, my life in second. The Family comes first is what I always say." said Jaime.

"You will have plenty of time to rest after we are finished." Ignored Tywin.

"Is it about Stannis? ’Cause if you want me to fight in your battles you will have to leave so that I begin to prepare myself as soon as possible."

"Stannis will not attack again so soon; No." said Tywin. "We have to ensure our alliances and maintain the Realm united Jaime, with the addition of Tyrell army to our cause the preference on the throne is ours."

"I find It difficult to maintain the Realm united dear father, when you seem to have more enemies by the minute."

"Friendships and enmities are nothing. Alliances are necessary to strengthen the links."

"Yes, yes. It's a good thing that Lady Margaery is only interested in the crown and it’s not bothered by marrying an sardonic idiot.” Jaime laughed at that.

"Our alliance with the Tyrells is already guaranteed and affirmed as much. To build a bridge between the Stark forces is what interests us now."

"Us? I am not a bit interested in your games of thrones, father, and I'm not going to pretend otherwise."

"That is where you are mistaken Son. In this game you have as much part as I and more than Robert ever had." Frowning, Jaime’s expression was more of irritation than confusion; because he knew what his father was talking about, but he felt the limits being exceeded. Jaime Lannister wielded the sword which crossed the Mad King Aerys's body and Tywin knew that the title received that day and cared until today plagued him to no end. Kingslayer. To this fall the blame just on Jaime; he always cared too much with what others thought of him. 'Fool' was what Tywin thought more appropriate.

"Now. Listen to me. You are no longer part of the White Cloaks." Tywin said at once. Jaime stared him down. He could count on the fingers of one hand the times that his son stared at him as openly and deeply as this.

Tywin looked back with intensity.

“Joffrey signed the papers and is done. You won’t be in your old quarters anymore, and the appropriate clothing will be given to you." He said.

"What? I am no longer in the Royal Guard? How is this possible? One was never been released from their vows ... I..ah..don’t." Jaime tripped over the words.

"Stop stuttering Jaime, this is ridiculous. Barristan Selmy was released from his post, and so will you. You will be more useful at Casterly Rock than in here guarding a teenager’s back. You will get married and inherit my place as always should have been. And I will not hear any more of it."

"Marry? Dearest father, have you gone mad? Are you putting all the laws to proof now? Resigning me from my position at Royal Guard first, and seems like you also decided to ignore the existence of your second son and heir?”

"Tyrion is not suitable to be a Lord. You, on the other hand, will be able to give a future to our house. You should understand that the right thing to do is to ensure the power in the East and keep Casterly Rock in my stead." Tywin stated. Unbelief marked the face of his son.

“You can't do this." said Jaime, almost in a whisper.

“I already did." Tywin, unblinking. "And I hope you’ll be ready for the arrival of your bride; it is your duty to woo and seduce her for our side." He finished.

Given Jaime's silent, he stood up and prepared to leave. Shooting one last at Jaime, he told him to rest.

Tywin was out of the room; praying that his son didn't ruin his plans completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for taking so long to update, but this was a hard to write and I admit that I'm not fully satisfied with this chapter (I was afraid to make the character too much OOC). But I hope you like it.  
> Thank you for everyone who read, review or left kudos. It makes me happy just to know that someone gave this humble fiction the time of the day. LUV YOU GUYS *-*


	4. An Offering: Jaime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, commenting and leaving kudos. It always makes me happy and reminds me to write. I'm sorry it took so long and for any typos it may contain.

 

**Act I: An Offering **

** Scene IV: Jaime Lannister **

 

The midday sunlight hit him in the face and bathed down his golden locks. Despite the heat cooking him alive inside his well polished iron plate, the Scarlet cloak weighing on his shoulders, the haze accommodated in the tight streets of King's Landing and the stench that forever pervaded the city, he wasn't bothered. It mattered not, because he was a free man.  


_"Free? Sure, who am I kidding?"_   


James laughed ins ide, because on the outside he couldn't express nothing but his deep misery. However, the more Jaime rode along with his father's few guards f orward the coast, the saltier and pleasant the air became .   


He had spent a some time recovering from his wounds, resting and healing; now he felt like himself again: the same proud Lion, the Gallant Knight, the Kingslayer, Tywin Lannister' s most valued son, the Queen's champion and lover, a respected member of the Kingsguard... Well, not any more.   


As if he didn't have enough broken promises to last a lifetime already. _"You have shit in the place of your honor, just like Catelyn Stark was keen to point out ."_ but would she be so quickly to offend him if she had known that the her daughter's future stood with him.   


The youngest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully. A girl, a child only. The last time he'd seen her she couldn't be taller than Tyrion and was as slender as a boy. Arya Underfoot, Arya Horseface. Arya Stark of Winterfell. His future wife and soon to be a Lannister.   


But he had not asked for any of this; no, actually he was against it from the beginning, denied his participation, he'd refused to take part in that plot, all in vain, it seems, because the story was already to unfold and he feared being present to watch its bitter end.   


He couldn't exactly see what his father hoped to achieve in marrying him to a little girl; moreover, a spoiled brat if he well remembered; that wolf episode in the King's Road stood as proof, Cercei wished the girl's hand cut off to teach her a lesson, and he would have obeyed faithfully, - it wasn't for Robert, but now the fat bastard was dead and Eddard Stark couldn't raise a finger to save her, Cercei was well able to rip her limb from limb until she was satisfied, and the Seven knows the Young King would love to join this mayhem, that Sansa girl hadn't suffered worse things only because she was worth something, and that was, His life and well being .   


Seeing that the Stark and Lannister feud came to a truce at last, it meant that her presence in the family would be definitive; or until she died a terrible and disconcerting death.   


He almost felt sorry for her; _but not so much_ , anyway that wasn't his problem.   


No; he had his own problems to deal with, like the wedding to which he had no intention of being a part of, and as a solution he had asked Cercei to run away with him and elope casually: _"You would conquer Qarth with your beauty and magnificence, and I would always be by your side."_ he murmured in her ear as they embraced with ardor and exchanged horny kisses; she snickered and declared him a fool to think that she would leave everything she earned behind, her son was King of the Seven Kingdoms and she Regent Queen by his side, what could be more important? _"Us"_   he whispered pushing her against his chest, but to no avail.   


After the shock of the news, to which Cercei has been furious at their lord father and maybe a little scared of losing the love of her twin brother, she soon recovered of such emotions and decided it wouldn't be a marriage that would prevent their secret meetings from happening, after all their relationship had already survived one marriage, - _her's_ ; - and the announcement of his engagement did not worried her at all.   


She claimed to be willing to keep the farce, everything would be like it had always been. Not that he could deny her or ever been able to deny her anything; Jaime had spent a lot of time away from her, fighting a war for her, dreaming of her in that dark cell for days on end; so when he finally made it to be able to see he, hear her and feel her again, he had made it with a renewed devotion; however her refusal left something aching inside of him, for he would have to lay down and pretend to be with her. What was hitherto unthinkable, go back to Casterly Rock without her, and wishing to be with her every second of the way; this weighed more than any other oath ever broken before.   


A heavy set of armor meant nothing next to the defeat crushing down his heart.   


The sudden halt of his party got him out of the deep reverie he fell in. Looking around warily and confirming their arrival at the bay area, Jaime and the others dismounted to navigate the busy port by feet. With one Lannister guard clearing the way and two on his back, Jaime made to the harbor where many ships were leaned already, men carrying their cargo in and out of board, people going and coming all around. The mass flow was as active as expected for an afternoon in King's Landing, vessels sailed away where others were still to come, it made it difficult to find a kid amid the chaos of people.   


_'Don't mind if she escapes now '_ he thought unpreoccupied. A missing bride would save him a lot of trouble now. _'And it wouldn't be hard to arrange that.'_ he mused. _' Why didn't I thought of this before? '._   


As they stepped forward, a newly arrived galley caught his attention, it's elegant shape so obviously foreign, the beams were freshly painted in white and all other details capture in gold. Jaime couldn't help but admire such artful work.   


That's when the figure of a ghost came into his view.   


"Lyanna! " he whisper.   


The blowing wind lifted a cloud of dust upon the shore as the deadly spirit descended herself onto earthly ground. Bells rang from afar.   


She wore jerkins unbecoming of a lady, however well the black material hugged her form; and a man's shirt that had once been white. Outworn belt wrapped on her hips holding a thin, childish blade. Jaime gazed up at her face to see the anger coming out of her big silver eyes; eyes that stared right back at him.   


"Shit." It dawned on him. _'That's her. The child bride. Just not looking so small '_. Her long face seemed to fit her better now that the baby fat was go ne, every angle was sharp and precise and it made her look older than her five and ten years of age.   


Jaime certainly wasn't expecting this.   


Her long dark hair was half tied up and half down upon her back.   


He wasn't sure why this mattered now, why he was analyzing this kid like a suitor would; marrying her was still the last of his wishes.   


He noticed the set of freckles on her nose and cheeks as she walked closer to him, the little stains weren't many to be remarkable but her white creamy skin made it standout upon a closer inspection.   


Jaime cut off his train of thought when the girl was close enough to be appropriate to greet one's betrothed .   


"My Lady Stark." Jaime spoke casually. "Welcome home".   


Jaime's spontaneous way sometimes blinded him to people's feelings and it made him come often as an asshole - _; well rightly so_ \- ; even then he wasn't willing to apologize for his foolishness. He watched her narrow her eyes and thought that she was bound to hate him anyway.   


Seeing as her only response was a curt and stiff nod, Jaime offered his right arm for her and turned to make it back to the Keep.   


Her silent irked him like other's mindless chatter did; honestly, he expected a bit of manners from a young maiden, even if it was from Arya Stark. The Seven knows the trouble this girl could be, but Jaime thought that living overseas could have taught her a few things about life in society.   


Now the knight was in charge of starting all the stupid pleasantries demanded of them:   


"I hope your stay in Braavos was enjoyable." He said forcibly.   


"Enjoyable enough." She stated emotionless.   


_'Can she be more of a brat?'_ he thought to himself, but said out loud; "You must have learned a lot these years abroad?"   


The Gods certainly owed him a lot for having to dig so deep in himself just to find the patience he thought was long lost. Their party got closer to where their horses have been waiting and a relieved Jaime was ready to deliver the stark to her appointed carriage when  she moved ahead of him, towards a nearby horse, his horse, and made it to mount at the same time answering his question. 

"I learned a little of many things, Sir." She looked down at him confidently. 

In his best interests, Jaime feigned concern to ask: "Don't you pref..." 

"No, Thank you. I wouldn't want to slow us down." And that's when she decided to smile at him for the first time. A fake, sweet and infuriating smile.   


Grinding his teeth together and suppressing a deep sign, Jaime ordered for the spare mount to be brought with haste. They might as well finish this torture already.   


The Lannister guards took their particular places as to safeguard the knight and his lady from danger and so they proceeded their return in a light gallop.   


During the journey Jaime was determined to ignore his companion thus neglecting his duty to assist the lady sitting stride, - shockingly -; in his own mare.   


The street got wider and somewhat cleaner the closer they got to the Sept of Baelor, he noticed the commoners heading animatedly in the same path as them, but brush it off since they couldn't change routes now.   


_'The Septas must be handing out soup today.'_ he thought unconcerned.   


Behind him the guards were sitting slack on their horses, being their normal worthless selves and to his right her highness Stark was as tense as a bowstring, mouth stubbornly shut.   


Everything seemed oddly calm, but he would not be the one to break the silence this time; no, he refused to waste his time in one more fruitless attempt to make her feel comfortable here or with him at least. No doubt King's Landing would teach her a lesson, in a place like this you should accept any little bit of kindness you are offered .   


They weren't much far off their course when a large procession could be seen roughing about the Sept's steps.   


Jaime kicked his horse to a dash wondering what might be the meaning of this, it seemed like all the dirty peasants of the city were put together, screaming and cheering words of hate. He surveyed the Sept's doors to see four of his once fellows of the Kingsguard shoving the crow d back only to make way for the royal family.   


Cercei came out of the building entryway with Lady Sansa meekly trailing behind her; then came his father, tall and proud as Hand of the King. Joffrey came prancing himself along while the royal Herald announced him and his multiple titles for the viewers.   


One second later Ilyn Payne strode forward half carrying, half dragging a filthy men with him. The men held his head down and his long, unkempt hair hid his face and identity. The crowd cheered louder as he was forcibly put on his knees, and people started throwing rocks or whatever they had at the unfortunate men. He briefly looked up when something struck his head.   


"Father!" Jaime heard in a loud gasp from his back.   


He had honestly forgotten about her there, but now that she said that he connected the ends of this intriguing thread and feared for what was about to come.   


He looked at her, but she had already slipped from her horse and was making to enter the mad throng of people on her way to her father.   


"DAMMIT!" _Damn this girl, damn his family; damn everything._   


He got off his horse and ran after her, infiltrating himself into the crowd. He pushed and shoved anyone who dared to be on his way, always keeping in sight her dark brown hair and slim form.   


In the back of his head h e could hear Eddard Stark confessing his treason.   


As strong or as tall as he was, Arya small and agile body made her much faster than him, to every step he took she was two ahead of him and like this she got at Bealor's feet, climbing the image with ease, all the while he was still amid the raging people, tossing themselves upon each other and screaming their head off.   


"My mother bids me let Lord Eddard take the black, and Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father."¹ Jaime heard Joffrey's whining voice.   


Thinking quickly h e unsheathed his sword menacingly, terrorizing those around him; people immediately made way for the imposing knight and Jaime went as fast as possible to his bride. She had descended from the statue and was swiftly pushing herself to the front line and towards her father .   


Jaime grabbed her arm and pulled her to his chest, erasing any chance for her to escape him.   


Her hateful swearing blended in with the people's demand for blood. She kicked his calves and trashed around but his hold on her only got tighter.   


"But they have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!”² Joffrey sneered horribly from above.   


Jaime wished he could will her to stop fighting, that it was for naught, but she didn't stop, she wouldn't stop. Arya bared her claws and ripped the skin at his neck, hissing and growling non stop.   


"Stop! Stop that NOW!" Jaime shook her gently, looking deep into her eyes.   


"NO!" she shouted. "Let me go, you bastard! LET. GO. OF. MEe ." She punched his chest and writhed in another try to turn back and escape.   


She was fierce and mad but Jaime heard the desperation in the crack of her voice, he saw her loss at the down ward of her lips, he witnessed the gray and terrible storm breaking down her lashes.   


"No." He held her shoulders, looking straight at her eyes. "Look at me. Just look at me."   


The holler got impossibly louder, he could hear Sansa screaming and without thought he buried Arya's cry into his chest , right hand pressing to her ear. He hoped she could hear his heart pounding instead of Eddard Stark's head rolling.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹,²: Excerpts from George R.R. Martin's A Game of Thrones, chapter 65, page 665.


	5. Only If For A Night: Arya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chiffon White color](http://ingridsundberg.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/white.jpg)   
>  [Silver Grey color](http://ingridsundberg.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/grey.jpg)

 

**Act II: Only if For A Night**

**Scene I: Arya Stark**

 

 

"Blue or white?"

  
Arya stared at the fine satin ribbons her sister held for her inspection, each one resting delicately on her equally as dainty fingers.

"Whichever you think it's best." Arya replied, feeling numb. "You know your fashion better than I." she said in a weak attempt to lift up the mood, flashing a smile that soon felt to the ground.

Looking down at herself, she examined the monstrosity of a dress in which she was fitted.

It certainly wouldn't be the wedding gown of her choice; well... if she had a choice there wouldn't be a wedding to speak of, but since the ceremony had all but started she made do with Sansa's company and bid her resilience to a maximum.

"White it is then." Sansa spoke kindly. "It contrasts well with your hair and It's only fitting to wear the colors of your House a last time." she finished.

Gray and white were the Stark colors. Her dress was a chiffon white color with patterns embroidered in silver, - _Not quite Stark_ \- running along the heavy skirt; speaking of which - the skirt - had at least five layers of fabric plus that hoop skirt underneath to give it shape. _'Ridiculous'_. Arya knew this were not in the feminine Crownlands daily fashion and it was only used on intricate gowns and special occasions such as this but still she couldn't stop comparing it to the much lighter and uncomplicated designs that woman showed off in Braavos. To top it all, the short, ruffle like sleeves were off the shoulders and exposed way more cleavage than Arya has ever dared to show off before.

When they came by Arya's private chambers to start that dreadful dressing, Sansa had animatedly stated how pretty a bride Arya would make; and so Sansa, coupled with two handmaidens begun to bath, dress and pamper Arya left and right. All the unnecessary fuss addressed at herself made her queasy and squeamish like never before. _'Maybe all brides feel this way on their wedding day'_. She felt like everything was made to bother her somehow; the only reason she took it so passively was for it also served as a distraction for Sansa, giving her something to do far away from any Lannister.

Arya focused on the feel of her sister's fingers pulling her hair gently and braiding together with the chosen ribbon. Her agile movements, steady and tight, though just a second before taking action.

She could remember a time when Sansa and Jeyne Poole braided each other's hair like true sisters, carelessly and dreamily like the summer kids they were. Just a look at them now was shocking and troubling how far they've grown out of their innocence, out of childhood and that old young simplicity.

"Is all done." Said Sansa with a sigh of finality. With the handmaids gone Sansa stood up from her place to fetch the mirror.

Arya straightened her back and faced the big wall mirror to her right, accessing her changed looks. Her sister took her place behind her once again with a smaller mirror perched on her lap so Arya could see the hairdo she spent more than half an hour working on.

One reflection reflected the other and so the girl could eye everything around her, from the white light coming as a gift from the persistent sun, shining behind clouds heavy with rain, to the large room darkest corners where no light could reach. She saw her body from different angles and saw the Maid hovering above, both light and dark settled on her like they belonged there.

The front visage couldn't appear simpler, all her hair pulled back with no adornments to be seen; on the back there was a tangle of knots, locks of hair twisted over in a complicated plate, the white satin ribbon snaked amidst the dark extension of the coiffure.

Arya lifted her arm intending to feel it but decided against, last she ruin it like she was bound to ruin everything. She turned in her seat to look at Sansa.

"Thank you." She said smiling heartily. "It's beautiful, thank you." She hoped her words were enough to show how grateful she was, she truly appreciated her sister's effort and most of all her presence.

"Don't thank me." Sansa responded while tucking a strand of Arya's difficult hair behind her ear. "You are beautiful already, I just gave it some touches." Sansa smiled back.

Arya gazed at shining red hair and soft blue eyes; _'That's hard to believe'_ she thought and said nothing, she didn't dare crush the bubble of mutual support they found themselves in.

"Are you nervous for the wedding?" Sansa asked in girlish excitement.

"You could say that." She responded in all seriousness, her jaw instantly tightening. She didn't mean to say it aloud, she shouldn't have say it at all; she vowed to herself she wouldn't demonstrate her anger or express any kind of aggressive feeling near her sister. She didn't respond well to that, Arya knew.

"It's not so bad." Sansa offered. "Sir Jaime is very gallant and he has no bastards to speak of."

The younger girl tried not to cringe at her sister's words. With her head down and her eyes shut tight she searched her brain for a lighter topic of conversation, while unconsciously pulling at the nail-head trim of the cushioned chaise lounge they sat on.

Hesitant fair hands covered her own in a calming way, wrapping themselves slowly but surely. Arya opened her eyes only to curse the traitorous sting of tears.

"It's alright, Arya." Her sister whispered ever so softly. "Sister, it's ok."

Arya looked up in disbelief to see Sansa's understanding gaze.

"You don't have to pretend you like this." She said. "Not with me."

The bride released a breath of relief and chuckled softly. She brought their hands up to her face.

"I bet you didn't like your stay here neither. But you are going home now." She replied positively.

"You will too. You'll go to Casterly Rock and make it your home and your family's." Sansa spoke as if she was trying to explain mathematics for a simpleton child.

Arya felt the wetness of tears rolling down her cheek and hated every drop, she loathed the hollow pain on her chest with all her straight.

Sansa's hands started sneaking up her arms bidding her warmth, offering her protection like a 'mother' would to her spawn. Her own mother couldn't be here with her, for her; too busy playing at court or as she said "ensuring the wedding went as expected.". But her sister is here and suddenly that is all that matters; Arya never thought it would come the day when she would be the one being comforted or drenching someone's shoulders with her disappointed tears. Her sister was always the maiden in distress and she the brave traveling knight.

Arya finally let herself go and threw herself at Sansa, burying her face at the space between shoulder and neck, Sansa's skinny and long limbs engulfing her form with familiarity.

"I have missed you so." She confessed. 'And I will miss you still', she thought.

The red haired beauty kept soothing her pathetic little sister in a surprisingly calm and sober voice, whispering sweet nothings in her ear and hushing the occasional sob.

No matter how much Arya wanted to stop this pitiful show she simply could not, for her energies had been drained. From receiving her father's letter to traversing a mad crown only to have him decapitated she had been nothing but composed, 'a fucking lady if you asked me'; and now, moments from her wedding she gave herself permission to break down, for after this no weakness with be granted.

Touching her lips to the shell of Arya's ear, Sansa spoke:

"All you have to do is keep it to yourself, do your marital duties and don't make scenes. Once you go to the west you'll have your freedom, but while you are here be the more docile self you can be." She nearly breathed.

Arya tried to disentangle herself from the embrace to look at Sansa's eyes but her sister forced her back against her chest and spoke a bit more forcibly.

"You hear me?" She allowed Arya space to tilt her head up. "There will be peace, Arya. Don't fight this, It's useless." All she could see was hard eyes and listen steel in her voice. Much like a commander on times of war.

"I won't." Arya responded hoarse voice while shaking her head to give emphasis to her answer.

Sansa rested her forehead against her sister's and seemed to be as relieved as she never was.

"Good." She whispered. "I love you, ok?"

Arya just looked at her while mouthing the words "I know." to what Sansa gigled prettily, cleaning Arya's tear track cheek.

"You are a mess."

Sansa stood up swiftly and grabbed a flask of make up upon the vanity and coming to Arya as if it was the best weapon on her artillery.

Arya gulped a large amount of air into her lungs and resigned herself to be stronger for the good of everyone. If her father made a promise, she would do everything to keep it and protect her family.

Her elder continued to clear her up, puffing the powder on her nose and cheeks when a light knock could be heard. Sansa stopped her movements and Arya became tense and as she nodded her sister emitted a light but commanding 'come in' for whoever was at the doors.

The heavy door creaked when opened and Robb entered looking older and tired.

Her mind went blank almost immediately, forsaking any existing fear, accommodating the weight of responsibility upon her shoulders and replacing her family above and foremost anything.

Meanwhile brother and sister talked about the time and arrangements of the ceremony, the sittings, guests, the awful sept...

Sansa mentioned for her to stand and made some finishing adjustments on Arya's appearance, kissing her cheek when satisfied she left Robb and Arya alone.

The former king caressed her hair in a brotherly way while complimenting her looks, her dress and her strength. He offered his arm in invitation to leave the room and she accepted gratefully with a strong vice grip.

Her older brother led her through the corridors of the Red Keep and to the open carriage assigned to take her to the Great Sept of Baelor. The cloudy sky kept most commoners away from the procession towards the sacred building at the top of Visenya's hill, a few street urchins ran beside the horses and the knights riding then unaware of the threat it might represent. She thought how different and yet how similar they were to the bravosy ones and how good a time it had been when she was one of them, just instead of horses, it was cats she chased through narrow alleys and opposed to knights, bravos which she provoked endlessly until they would spare with her. She could have smiled at the memory, was not the increasing proximity to her doom.

Once there Robb assisted her to descend the carriage and ascend the flight of stairs before the Sept, the Kingslayer awaited patiently at those impressive doors and grinned at their direction in what was suppose to be an appeasing way but only served to aggravate her further, Robb glared menacingly at her side and like a sudden change in the weather her weight shifted from her brother's arm to Jaime Lannister handicap limb, the golden replacement sleek and glowing before everyone's eyes. Arya Stark averted her gaze from the golden man beside her and faced ahead of her, to the images the Seven outlined on the wide stained glass.

Above the high septon and right in between families was the Father, tall and just; to the left where House Stark stood were the Mother, the Maiden and the Smith; on the right side House Lannister poised below the Warrior, the Crone and the Stranger.

As music began to be played as their cue, she quickly and imperceptibly passed her eyes around in search of another gray set, wise and soothing, but nothing. None were like his. "Except Jon's". But he wasn't there neither. She gulped the bile down, dropping her eyes to watch her footsteps, attentive not to stumble on her own dress, she counted exactly fourteen steps till the end.

And so Arya let herself be led to the altar.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your opinion is appreciated, leave a comment :P


	6. Only If For A Night: Tyrion

**Act II: Only If For A Night**

**Scene II: Tyrion Lannister**

 

  
The building swayed with the rhythm of the song and his feet wobbled slightly but apparently to whomever may be watching him. The drunk imp danced gently with himself to the rumbling sound of 'The Bear and The Maiden Fair' on his brother's wedding feast, half empty wine skin on his little hands and he thought "Fuck it". He thought that aside from all the fuckery that has been committed against him, the blatant abuse, the pushing aside, the stepping over and constant mockery... Well, aside from that, there was no reason to not have a good time on a perfect pleasing night; so to hell with his father and this shitty situation he forced them all through, one where everyone was miserable, even Tywin, but the man was known for not cracking a smile on his best days.

  
Tyrion looked over at his older brother's golden figure leaning away from his young wife and staring into space, while the said wife seemed content enough with her - Their - plate full of pie, the newly wed couple seemed intended on ignoring each other, _'very romantic indeed'_.

  
He gave a look around the room, quickly scanning any lady's rear turned to him, - the perks of being a small man; lords and ladies alike danced and wandered around the great hall, drunk on dornese, full of pie, and gossiping the night away; seeming unconcerned with what tomorrow would bring. He wish he could loose himself in ignorance like others did, lavish on the expenses of his royal family, but he could not do. It was not what Lannisters did. Simple as that. His father taught him well, at least for that instance. _'Always be one step ahead of your enemy.'_. For as much as Tywin looked down on him, he was undeniably adept of the older man advices. More so than his siblings. His reckless and selfish pair of siblings.

  
The attack he suffered during the battle of the blackwater was nothing short of a casualty or an incident, she could deny all she wanted, Tyrion was more than convinced of Cersei's guilt. That moment could have costed his life, wasn't for Pod; but instead it left him scarred and more deformed than before. But it matter naught. For all his sister machinations and ruses she still had trail of dirt leading her way; revenge could and would be arranged. He would keep his distance and pace aroud passively, for now. Lord Tywin Lannister could deal with her.

  
As the last notes of The Bear and Maiden Fair played, Tyrion moved to the refreshment table in order to fix himself another goblet of good and spiced Dornish wine, at the same time noticing the rush of couples for the next set. A boring blond lad approached the newly wed couple and requested for the lady's company, to which Jaime shrugged and went back to daydreaming, Arya accepted the extended hand and followed the lad to the middle of the ballroom.

  
Tyrion rolled his mismatched eyes and walked to where his brother was, occupying the bride's seat in a second.

  
Jaime glanced his way briefly and like a lost man, lose his shoulder down, head hanging back on the rest of his comfortable looking chair, eyes roaming the ceiling, lost and tired.

  
"Enjoying yourself, brother?" Jaime asked sarcastically.

  
"How could I not?" Tyrion shot back. "The food is good, wine is plenty and woman are spilling out of their gowns." He had already snached a piece of cake from the plate in front of him, chewing thoroughly while watching; Arya Lannister Stark waltzed about with the blond's assistance, whom only now Tyrion remembered to be a 'Dayne', she appeared to be having fun for half a second, but a twirl later and her usual austere face was back in place.

  
He looked back at Jaime, no words needed, Jaime got the question he poised.

  
"Starks and Lannisters have no business with each other." He said, chuckling to himself. "It's beyond me why father thought this would be a good idea."

  
"Which part?" He asked playfully. "Stripping you of the KIngsguard to make you his successor? Marrying you to a beautiful young girl of noble blood to give you sons? Sending you away to Casterly Rock for your remaining years of life?" He couldn't stop from letting his bitterness show at the end.

  
He wasn't a bitter man. Not usually. He was just angry. And drunk.

  
_'Father must be thrilling with joy'_. He couldn't help but think. If his father could fell anything was satisfaction over accomplishing his ploys.

  
"What I mean to say is that you should appease yourself and make the best of the situation." He said simply, slight raising his eyebrows. "Unless you have any other idea." He tried.

  
Jaime stayed quiet, affronted by his query.

  
"I'll take that as a no." he said then, drinking the rest of his wine.

  
"I will be surprised if she doesn't kill me in my sleep." Jaime said.

  
"Nah" He dismissed. "YOU!" He exclaimed a bit too loud. "You are a straiping knight of noble birth. She will warm up to you, eventually. Just try and be more gentle, she is a young pretty thing, it can't be that hard." His brother turned pale as he finished, could it be that Jaime did not agreed on her appearance, It was true that he only had eyes for Cersei but he wasn't blind.

  
"Warm up?" said Jaime with a huf. "I don't believe so. No, if she is anything like her father, we'll settle for a very cold acquaintance ahead."

All he could do was sigh, defeated. Standing on his feet again.

  
"Well brother, I can't relate to your terrible problems." He placed one hand on Jame's arm and said. "Cheer up, the best of the night is yet to come." He jested smiling.

  
Jaime frowned worried and Tyrion decided to leave his brother to his alarmed thoughts. Walking back to his assigned seat, far from the high table with the Lannisters or the bride's family, not so close to the other not relatives noble guests, just good enough to seat with the members of the small council; which he was still a part of, at least.

  
There was only so much wine to make it through the night, his legs hurt, his thoughts danced madly inside his head and he hasn't seen Shae the whole day; he was tired, the sooner this party ended the better.

  
The little lion reached his chair and threw himself gracelessly at it much like Jaime was earlier.

  
To his left, Littlefinger sat demurely, looking conspicuously at all the come and go of people. The man turned his body in Tyrion's direction, leaning ever so gingerly to his chair armrests, all the while Tyrion have been trying hard to ignore him, looking persistently ahead and wishing for some peace. _'No, please no. Don't speak to me.'_ he dared to pray.

  
"Your brother is looking quiet grave on his own wedding." Petyr commented, a sneer on his lips.

  
_'Is he? Really?_ ' He wanted to say. _'This dipshit is just making a joke of it.'_ He rolled his eyes and looked to his left.

  
"His nerves are getting the best of him I'm afraid." He answered.

  
"Ah, the groom feels anxious around his novice bride. I don't begrudge him his right. The girl is say to be the image of Lyanna Stark and twice as wild, who knows what sort of things she's been learning in those Free Cities." said Littlefinger.

  
_'Lyanna Stark, huh?'_ Tyrion could not confirm nor belie the statement, he himself was a child when she died, he never met her, but Jaime surely did. During the tourney at Harrenhal, the northern girl was made Queen of Love and Beauty over Queen Elia herself. A five and ten years old Jaime Lannister was hired into the Kingsguard the day prior and sent to King's Landing soon after, despite not competing in the joust, Jaime was there during the meeles and other amusements presented. Jaime must have met her there, he saw and knew her grace first hand.

  
It made sense now, Jaime's apprehension was born of a twisted past and out of devotion to Cersei. _'Perhaps'_ he guessed.

  
The imp looked up at where Jaime was and saw his brother stealing glances from his twin every few minutes. Tyrion then looked at Arya, at the center of the room and at the center of men's attention, having just finished dancing with her brother she now half heartedly accepted the hand of Garlan Tyrell for one more.

  
The dark waves of her hair was a contrast to her mother's and Sansa's already known shiny red locks. Her assets were manifested in the fair size of her chest and the fine dip of her waist. Her skin had a different glow to it, much like those field working girls. Her eyes were pretty and grey, even if a little distant.

  
"She looks decent enough to me." He chanced at last.

  
The master of coin snorted by his side and spoke so low Tyrion thought he wasn't mean to hear at all; "She's nothing to her sister."

  
He thought better to ignore because at that exact moment his nephew, _'our gracious King Joffrey'_ stood up in his place to call out for the bedding ceremony, there was clapping and cheering, drunks alike sang out the words merrily.

  
Tyrion sat straight now, trying to observe the married couple's reaction.

  
Jaime seemed half alarmed and half annoyed, but Tyrion suspected it was just a mask, although he seemed resigned enough to let the throng of giggling woman lead him away, his jaw clamped shut like a steeled nutcracker.

  
Arya was caught in the middle ill casted taunts and lewd jests, she stood completely still and erect, arms going up to embrace herself and protect her dignity as men tried to tear pieces of her dress, and just in a blink of an eye a big giant of a man pushed the others aside - rather roughly, - and picked the innocent bride by the hips throwing her over one broad shoulder. The feral norther ran for his life as the rest of them chased and howled and bawled cursing his existence.

  
Joffrey's annoying laugh was all there was to fill in the drained out room. The remaining guests attempting to recover the shock from the turmoil.

  
He took a deep breath and look around himself; his colleagues advisers were gone, leaving him alone at his table. Opposite from him, on to other side of the room, Lady Catelyn Stark spoke quietly to his grim looking father, she looked exhausted and pained settling for an awkward silence that Tywin undoubtedly caused.

  
The musicians started playing again and he thought it the best moment to retire, skipping from his seat, he strolled across and out of the great hall, indifferent to drunken stumble.

  
He couldn't wait to lay his heavy body down on his soft feather bed, just the thought of it with a plump and warm Shae to...

  
_'Hm?'_

  
He stopped on his track, confused and intrigued, right outside of the hall he just came out, where the torches were left out from neglect, his small form were cast out in darkness and he could see perfectly the pleasing frame of Lady Margaery Tyrell and the red headed boy, Robb Stark.

  
There was not much to it, as they stood properly afar from each other next to large window; Lord Stark's face was serious while Margaery's was smiling prettily, she kept talking nonstop but Tyrion couldn't hear, fearing discovery he didn't dare to step closer.

  
_'And why would Lady Tyrell want a word with the Stark? What business could she have with him?'_ He had no idea but Tyrion knew that no word left her mouth unplanned and that she always landed her marks.

  
Feeling his intoxication emerge again he took the nearest turn and tuck his curious thoughts for later.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	7. Only If For A Night: Jaime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, kudoing and commenting. It never fails makes my day.  
> I'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter but decided to post it anyway, also THIS IS MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT SMUT. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED. 
> 
> Next chapter is in Arya's pov.

**Act II: Only If For A Night**

  
**Scene III: Jaime Lannister**

 

  
As soon as the first rails of sunshine hit the windows and pierced through the curtains Jaime pushed his legs out of the mattress and into the cold titled ground. Not caring if the noises he made would disturb the sleeping girl.

His side of the bed was visibly damp from his sweat, the place where he spent a less than pleasing night.

To be completely honest with himself, he would have slept like a baby if only the girl decided to fall asleep too, but the stubborn ass stayed up all night, thinking about gods know what, probably making up ways to murder him in his sleep. Even so, if anyone asked he would say he had the best sleep in years. It wouldn't do to let people acknowledge his misery, last night's feast already served that purpose.

He swiftly put on a shirt and some boots.

Looking around his chamber one last time, the sun was getting brighter as it got higher up in the sky, illuminating everything in the room; the place in which the bedding ceremony took place, or should have taken place. Her gown was neatly folded at the chair close to the fire, the material being in surprisingly good conditions, with what he gathered it should be in shreds, it was a good thing that someone of her clan protected her of those disgusting drunkards, save her from more humiliation, save her from more fear at least; she was just a girl after all.

Jaime watched her back and followed the patterns of her breathing, calm and unaware. The feeling of regret tugged at his brain, all that unnecessary ruckus just to find a sock, it wasn't as if she wasn't tired too, for she spent the night equally as alert, she must be exhausted.

He tucked his shirt into his pants and straightened himself for the sake of property, exiting the room as quietly as he could, the bolt on the door clicked shut softly behind him.

His strides were large but slow, his body caught up in between exhaustion and lust, he needed to see his sweet sister, it's been too long since they held each other to completion. Corridors and chambers separated him from her, but in true they never had so much distance between them, figuratively speaking. In the years they had been as one, their minds were focused on the same things, their bodies were belonging to the one other, they dedicated themselves to the other, or almost, Cersei had always had her aspiration, which he didn't resent her for having. But for Jaime that was real, all he ever craved was her love and time of the day.

With this new arrangement, their contact will gradually fade until is gone. His marriage, his promotion to heir of Casterly Rock, that wasn't in his plans, for his plans and dreams consisted of a place far away, and Cersei on his arms. Forget Florian and Jonquil. He doubt anyone could know love as theirs.

Jaime ascended the last steps to the corridor where was his sister's chamber, high up in one of Maegor's Holdfast towers. As soon as he reached her door Jaime threw it open, as always not bothering to knock.

He couldn't see her at first, but with closer look at the large room, he caught a sight of her silhouette through the partition screen where she changed out of her sleeping attire. She was still slender but firm and stout where he liked the most. In a sensible outburst, he knocked the door twice just to announce his presence.

Immediately a servant appeared from behind the screen where she helped her mistress to dress.

"Tell the Queen her brother is here to see her." Jaime ordered, loud enough for the Queen herself to hear.

Jaime could hear the rustling of her clothes and not long later she came out of her hidden place to send the girl out, leaving them alone. 

"So soon?" Cersei asked amused. Her provocative walk unfolding her robe and revealing her legs to him.

"Too long." He answered darkly. Going straight to her waiting embrace and sealing his lips to hers.

Jaime sneaked his arms around her waist and felt some stiff material instead of her soft skin. The maid had only time to put on her undergarments and a ridiculously tight corset. They still kissed passionately but too soon Cersei pushed his shoulder and came up for air.

She had a wild smile on her beautiful face and her eyes was shining mischievously. 

"Won't you tell me how was your night, brother." She traced her nails along his jaw. 

"Loathsome and boring. But what does it matter?" They are together now. He lowered his head to kiss her neck. 

"Boring?" She said in overacted surprise. "That is hard to believe. Many interesting things can happen in a girl's first night." She pulled at his hair, making him look at her. 

What could he say that wouldn't vex her. Jaime had never been so confused. In the past she demanded his fidelity and he gave it to her willingly. He hadn't wanted to do the deed as he imagined she wouldn't want him to. Yet here she was, indignation writing on her features. 

"No, Cersei. We did nothing but sleep. And terribly so." he said, trying to convey what was on his heart through his eyes. 

Their eyes. Green and sparkling with gold. they were one. 

"Why ever not?" she screeched impatiently. Her face contorting unsightly as she pushed them apart. 

"It's easier to have an annulled marriage if there was no consummation." Jaime said, incredulous. It was unbelievable that he had to spell it out to her, but only now he noted that maybe they weren't on the same page. 

Cersei threw her head back in a guffaw, chest heaving and body shaking with the effort. The sound of it resonating on the walls and sending a shiver down his spine. Never before had Jaime felt this way around her, not on their darkest moments and not on their hardest times. 

"Are you entertaining thoughts of an escape again, Jaime?" She asked like he was a child. No better off than little Tommen. 

His heart dropped all the way to his stomach, he could have screamed in despair. Hurt, Jaime turned his back to her, mostly to hide the half chuckle, half sob that escaped him unbidden, partly because it was just too hard to look upon that face, the face he loved for so long, the face he loves. 

He heard her make a cooing noise and walk in his direction. He braced his hands against the pillar of here bed, uncertain of where to place them. 

Her hands on the sides of torso was the first sight of comfort coming from her. He wanted to cry for how good it felt. Her face pressed on his back, and her arms sneaked around him. 

"You know we can't go against what Father bids, but we can go around it, like we always did." she said so softly, her mighty hands traveled down his front to the place where he needed them. 

Jaime hung his head, chin on his chest, and exhaled a long suffered breathe. He tried to free the tension from his body while she worked him, stroking and massaging around. 

"Whatever you do to her will never compare to what we have, Jaime." Her chin now resting on his shoulder, lips right beside his ear. "What is a night of duty to a lifetime of passion?" 

_'Right, You're right'_ He couldn't help but thrust against her palm. One hand still hold himself up, the other trying to find the meat of her ass. 

Cersei withdrew her hand from him and before he could complain, turned him around for a hard kiss, tongues fighting and teeth clashing. With her hands on his chest she pushed him down on her bed, Jaime couldn't say a thing, he knew this old dance by heart. 

Cersei quickly straddled his hips and started unbuttoning his shirt, Jaime helping her. Her hot mouth met his throat and his thoughts escaped him completely. 

Jaime kept roaming his hands on every surface of her flesh, unable to get enough, she propped herself up on his crotch, rotating her hips and grinding her warmth on his erection. 

"You know what you have to do, Jaime." she said, her movements never stopping. 

Jaime nodded rapidly, he just wanted these damn clothes gone. His cock strained against his jerkins, her aroused soaked her underwear. She hooked her fingers at his waistband, bringing it down slowly until his cock sprung free from the restraints, he hissed as she ran her hands up his upper body to find leverage on his broad shoulders. 

Her covered entrance rested above his head and all could do to hold on was grab her tights and groan her name over and over. 

"You'll take her, Jaime" She moaned her words so wantonly. "Fuck her until it bleeds..." 

Her hand came back down to the apex of her tights, caressing sensually, to just then move the silky cloth aside exposing her cunt to him. Her walls enclosed him in a practiced way as she lowered her body onto his, making then sigh and gasp in unison. 

Jaime was already bucking and writhing underneath her, he knew he wouldn't last long, she probably knew too, for she came to a sitting position on his cock and started squeezing her breasts over her clothes. 

"Jaime!" _'Yes'._

"Fuck her so hard..." He shut his eyes tightly and tried to draw away her words. "Make her hate it..." Gritted teeth and clenched fists, he focused on the fell of her. "Make her love it..." she was riding him so fast and hard by now it was setting him on fire. 

They were both so intent on finding their release, together but apart, their moans and groans filled the room, the slapping of their skin echoed at the ceiling and reached their ears again and again. 

"Then say it Jaime..." Cersei drawled out desperately. "Say my name, Jaime. Say it!" She was so close.  
Just like him. 

He couldn't hold it anymore, his shoulder rising from the mattress and hands reaching for her waist Jaime thrusted up into her cunt a couple more times. 

"Cers.." He came with a groan as she convulsed around him. 

She came down to lay beside him, releasing a deep breath from her smiling mouth, their labored breaths mingling together as she kissed him sweetly just like he daydreams during diners, their bodies were almost too hot curled up on each other but unfortunately the chilled feeling on his spine wouldn't leave him. 

Cersei got up to freshen up and left him to catch his breath alone and the unwelcome thoughts came back just as fast. 

A towel was thrown at his face. Apparently the breakfast after the wedding was very important, the two families being together and all that. Cersei had to be somewhere; he did too. With a final peck and a promise to meet again Jaime left her chamber. 

This sick feeling was new to him, the afterwards were more often than not the best part. The satiation, the satisfaction, the delectation. It was all there now but also the sickening feeling at the bottom of his stomach. 

Presuming to be hunger, he walked for that breakfast once and for all. His shirt was buttoned up and tucked on his jerkins, which it was laced up properly, the only signs of exertion was his sweat coated hair. 

Jaime brushed it back and skipped down the stairs for the Small Hall. 

The sound of the cutlery being halted reached his ears. The well known voice of his King called for attention. 

Jaime turned a corner and was faced the sight of the long table full of every Lannister, Stark and Tyrell from the Seven Kingdoms, all of them stared straight at him as he walked in. 

"Uncle Jaime!" Joffrey called him, and he looked up at the kid's satisfied face. "We have already started without you. But you know that I don't tolerate lateness." Joff said in a failed attempt to sound regal. 

He remained quiet, only listened to the buzz of whisper directed his way. By the king's left side, he noticed two maids holding up a white sheet, dirtied from sweat and stained with a blot of blood. The sheets looked just like the ones he fled at sunrise. 

"Well, look at this. It took an old lion to take the little wolf down." Joffrey laughed in pure mirth. 

Confused and appalled Jaime searched the faces for the one with an explanation. 

She was sitting down to his father's right, dressed in a black dress, facing ahead of her but her eyes turned to look at him. Her pale face devoid of emotion but those grey eyes convey disgust and somehow he knew she knew everything, she saw him and knew. 

Meanwhile Joffrey offered him his half meant congratulations and people toasted to him, to them, their union and all it will prosper. 

He felt his face heat up as Arya Stark kept staring him down. 

_'No'_. He couldn't possibly be blushing.

**Author's Note:**

> Here Ned wasn't beheaded at the great sept but was left to rotten at the Black cells until Tywin arrives and decides what to do with the lord of winterfell.  
> Ned sent Arya to Bravoos instead of bringing Syril Forel to King's Landing 'cause she wasn't happy there.  
> I aged each character about 2 - 3 years when the series begin, so when this fic starts, they are like:  
> Arya - 15, Sansa - 17, Robb - 20, Jon - 20, Bran - 14, Rickon - 7


End file.
